


loneliness is better when you're not alone

by daneorange (adreamaloud)



Category: Lip Service, Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skins/Lip Service AU. Post-Tidalverse. Where Naomi Campbell and Frankie Alan drink a lot and Katie Fitch cleans her guns. Title is from Hello Saferide</p>
            </blockquote>





	loneliness is better when you're not alone

Naomi meets Frankie Alan on a Thursday, in Katie's precinct. Clearly, there are better ways to meet people, but then, it isn't every day that someone arrests someone that looks like _that_. Naomi tries not to stare, but Frankie catches on anyway, winking at her on the way to the holding room down the hall, clutching at her jacket

"What's she in for?" she asks Katie when she gets back, looking all harried and bored at the same time. Naomi's seated by Katie's desk, munching on a donut while leafing through Katie's logbook -- something she isn't supposed to be caught doing, yes, but it's not like she isn't here nearly every day. Surely she must have proved herself to be harmless, so far.

"Who?" asks Katie back, distracted. She leafs through the contents of her folder before noticing that Naomi's got her hands on her logbook _again_. "Christ, I _told_ you, don't--" Katie lets out a small, disapproving sound before snatching the thing off Naomi's hand, and Naomi can't help but pout, a little. "-Fucking mess with this. Also, who? That girl in the leather jacket, you mean?"

"Yeah," Naomi nods, chewing at the end of her pen. "I like her jacket."

"Awesome jacket, no?" says Katie over the rustling of papers. "File says breaking and entering, and I think there's also something about an attempted arson? She claims it's all a misunderstanding, and--wait a minute." Katie looks up, tugging at her tie. "Campbell, for Christ's sake, you don't go picking up girls in my precinct -- I thought we've made that _clear_?"

"Oh _please_ ," Naomi says, rolling her eyes. "I'm on the lookout for a _story_."

"Whatever." Katie reaches across the table, snatching the pen off Naomi's fingers to jot down something in her logbook. Naomi thinks it isn't even _that_ precious, and to be honest she's seen more exciting blotters, but then, what could anyone expect from a precinct in a sleepy town like this?

"I liked you better when you were writing about museums and hotels," Katie says, tossing the pen back. "Or lounging around in beaches. Just. Away from here."

Naomi chuckles. Katie likes pretending she doesn't like having Naomi around, but with Emily out of the country as well, she's the closest to tolerable family Katie actually has in the area. "Things like that get tiring, you know," Naomi just says, sinking into her seat. For all its spartan appeal, the seats in Katie's office are actually quite comfortable; it's like she knew just where to funnel all the funds. "Besides, this place is so convenient."

"I bet." Katie rolls her eyes, helping herself to the last donut on Naomi's plate. "You should start bringing in coffee with these donuts, you know."

"I would, if you were nicer."

"Bitch," Katie says, sticking her tongue out. Then, off the noise down the hallway that momentarily distracts her, she concedes: "The name's Frankie, by the way."

Naomi grins. Katie's so easy, so often. "Frankie. Is that right?" And then, "Frankie. Frankie what?"

Katie shrugs, pretending to focus on her newly opened file. "Coffee first."

It's Naomi's turn to say, "Bitch," still smiling as she sets off for the vendo machine.

*

Naomi wishes she can say she has better things to do than hang around police precincts these days, but then again, she can't. Since quitting the regular post at the magazine, she's been so restless. After spending the first few years after that uncharacteristically peaceful divorce with David hopping from one country to the other -- even bumping into Emily twice in two different Asian countries -- Naomi realized she's had enough of the same old things. An odd realization entirely, considering that with that lifestyle, _nothing_ stayed the same for more than a couple of weeks, but then, even constant change gets too familiar sometimes.

And so she decided to stay put. It's horrible at first -- she found herself awake at the strangest hours, walking around an empty flat in the quiet. During the first few weeks, she tried sorting that out by reading until her eyes were weary, until one day she gave up and thought, _This isn't working._

On the night she first called Katie, she expected to be yelled at; after all it was past midnight, and surely some people slept better than Naomi was managing in those days. But there was no sleepy voice on the other end when Katie picked up with a stiff practiced greeting that involved the mention of only one word: "Fitch."

Naomi laughed, and _then_ there was yelling, however brief. Apparently, as Naomi realized a tad bit late, laughing at officers on duty on the phone tended to have that effect.

Naomi found herself at the station some ten minutes later, a box of donuts in tow -- the first of many, actually. Katie smiled tiredly as she welcomed her, ushering her into her office and sitting her down before asking the standard, "What brings you here?"

Naomi only shrugged, and the way Katie just looked at her and said nothing told Naomi more about what Katie felt at that moment, more than anything else.

These days during idle hours when Naomi's just sitting across Katie in her office, chewing on her pen while staring into space, the precinct around them all quiet, Katie still asks her sometimes, what it is she's really looking for. Still, Naomi shrugs, uncertain.

"You weirdo," Katie says to her once, her chair creaking as she sinks back into it in kind, propping her boots up to rest upon the edge of her table. "You've been here, what? Two, three weeks? And you still don't know what you're looking for? I should start charging you office rent, or something."

That time Naomi just smiles. She can't explain what she's looking for -- just that she's itching to write _something_ , only she doesn't know what.

"Naomi," sighs Katie, possibly off that look on Naomi's face again. Naomi doesn't know when _that_ started happening - when Katie actually started _caring_ about her, even without Emily's prodding.

"Don't worry, yeah?" Naomi says, reaching over for that rare pat on Katie's resting hand. "I'll figure it out soon." And then, "You really think the donuts aren't enough? Really, _rent?_ "

Katie laughs, bringing her boots to the floor with a soft thud. "At some point there has to be coffee, hmm?"

"I'll remember next time," Naomi just says, laughing along.

*

Frankie's smoking by the vendo machine when Naomi gets there; the evening's cold, and it's a surprise, that she's actually _outside_ \-- is she even supposed to be there?

Naomi gives her a strange look before offering her the other cup of coffee - she'll get Katie another one later. "Cold night," she just says. Frankie smiles -- Naomi knows that sort of lazy smile; thinks, _This girl must get laid ridiculously often with that._

"Thanks," says Frankie, taking the cup with one hand and offering her pack of fags in kind. "Smoke?"

Naomi nods, slipping a cigarette out. Frankie reaches over with a lighter and Naomi leans in, closing her eyes against the fumes, trying to remember the last time she met a girl like this. _Definitely not Emily,_ she thinks; somewhere inside there's a throb, but it's so minute it almost isn't there. _If anything, she's closer to Ingrid, even--the one from Bonn._

There's the clink of the lighter closing, the rustle of denim as Frankie slides it into her back pocket. Naomi opens her eyes and blinks.

"All right?" asks Frankie, sipping now from her coffee. She's leaning comfortably against the wall, her body arranging itself so casually upon it, it's actually fucking beautiful.

"Yeah," Naomi says, clearing her throat. And then, "Are you even supposed to be out here? Weren't you just--I mean, a while ago--"

When Frankie laughs, it's actually a low growl, and something shifts inside Naomi at the realization. "Oh, that was--yeah," she shrugs, scratching at the back of her head. "A misunderstanding."

"Is that right?" Now that she's got Frankie all flushed -- can you imagine, _flushed?_ \-- Naomi just thinks, might as well.

"Not what it looked like at all," Frankie says, shaking her head and regaining her smile. "Classic case of--"

"--Getting caught at a bad place, at a bad time," Naomi completes for her, and the way Frankie's grin widens at that tells Naomi how Frankie's actually impressed.

"Something like that," Frankie just says.

"I think I know what you mean." It's one of those things Naomi likes to punctuate with one of her cryptic smirks; she thinks mystery works most times. "What got you out then? It seemed kind of… _in flagrante delicto_." Frankie raises a brow at that; at no other time apart from that moment has Naomi been more pleased to know a few of the terms Katie liked throwing about, every so often.

" _Delicto_ ," Frankie repeats, stubbing her cigarette out. "You make it sound so… _criminal_."

"And wasn't it?"

Frankie pauses to light another fag, just as Naomi gets to the end of hers. She contemplates bumming another stick before Frankie throws the pack at her altogether. It lands perfectly on her open palms with a soft scratchy sound, and it seems like they've been doing this for years.

"To a degree, perhaps," Frankie says. "To answer your question -- a friend of a friend got me out."

 _Friend of a friend._ Something about the phrasing struck Naomi as curious. "Friend of a friend, hm," she says again, smiling. "A cop, I assume."

Frankie laughs, but this time it's laced with a sort of bitterness. "Detective Sergeant." And then, "Who's dating my ex-girlfriend."

"Ah."

Right then, there's a shuffle of footsteps behind them; Frankie pushes herself off the wall at the sound, dropping her cigarette like she's nervous. There's formal-sounding murmuring above their heads, and then someone calls Frankie's name.

"That would be me," Naomi catches Frankie murmuring, smiling at her, suddenly looking tired. When Naomi turns around, Katie's coming down the stairs, looking ridiculously short beside a tall woman in an attractive coat. From what little cloth she could see under her coat collar, Naomi can make out a sort of uniform.

When she looks back at Frankie, Frankie just shoots back a, _Yeah, her_ sort of half-nod and Naomi only shrugs back, trying to understand.

At some point, a smaller woman about Katie's height emerges behind them; she's wearing an anxious look that, to Naomi's mind, probably needs medical attention. She notes a slight shift in Frankie's expression when she starts speaking, and for a moment Naomi can't keep up with the sudden tension in the air.

 _Oh. Really._ Naomi can't help but smile at the playful things she's conjured in her head.

It takes a while before Katie finally notices her standing in the corner, sipping the last of her coffee quietly. "Well," she says, inhaling like she were wrapping up this great speech. "At least we got that sorted."

"Right," the taller woman says, extending a hand. "Thanks for your assistance."

"Not at all, Detective Murray," Katie replies, shaking the hand in kind, and Naomi marvels at how _in charge_ Katie just looks at that moment. And then, to Frankie, "Keep out of trouble now."

"Yes, ma'am." Frankie smiles again, doing this little salute before walking over to her group. She winks at Naomi one last time before finally turning away.

Later, when Naomi hands Katie her coffee finally, Katie just says, "So _that's_ what took you so long, hm?" And then, "I suppose you got what you wanted off me off her. Which, by the way -- good on you."

Naomi laughs, realizing how she hadn't even managed to ask about her _name_ \-- but decides to withhold her shit investigation skills from Katie anyway, for fear of being mocked. "Know what else I found out?" she asks instead.

"What?"

Naomi smiles at her like she's got the best secret this side of town. "She used to date that girl, and now that officer has her." She even pauses to take in Katie's now-wide eyes. "Intriguing, huh?"

Katie just nods, finishing her coffee in quiet. After which she just says, "I would have been impressed if it hadn't been so _obvious_ , Naomi."

"Oh, fuck you and your Spidey-cop-sense, Katie," Naomi sighs, shaking her head. After all this time, she's still waiting for that moment she gets to one-up her, for a change.

*

The next time Naomi bumps into Frankie, it's in front of a pub; Frankie's holding a bottle in a hand and a cigarette in the other, and Naomi almost laughs at how this was exactly how she pictured Frankie to be, in the first place.

"You know," Frankie begins, holding out her cigarette pack to Naomi in greeting. "I didn't even get to ask for your name, the last time."

"Oh?" Naomi lights her cigarette, exhaling before extending her hand. "Naomi, then," she says, noting the moist palm with which Frankie had shaken it. "Campbell. Not the model."

"Not the soup either, I suppose," Frankie replies with a smile. "Naomi Campbell as in the writer, perhaps?"

Now _there's_ something Naomi doesn't see coming. She thinks up a witty reply to that, but settles for the nervous laugh instead, in the absence of immediate words.

"Does it surprise you?" Frankie asks.

"Not everyone usually recognizes," Naomi replies, shrugging. "Not especially the people I meet at the precinct."

"Are you usually this horrible at reading people, then?"

Naomi laughs, more comfortable this time, but only slightly. She takes a drag off her cigarette and studies Frankie closer -- she looks like her clothes were at least a day old, and yet she manages to still come off as ridiculously attractive. How does that happen? (More importantly, how does somebody _who isn't Effy_ manage all that?)

"I may be out of practice," says Naomi, before, "What is it that you do? Which by the way means I'm asking-- how did you know?"

Frankie smiles, touching the tip of a brow with a finger. "Freelance photography. May have seen your byline a few times. I liked reading about your getaways -- how the fuck do you score such assignments?"

 _Of course, a photographer,_ Naomi thinks, smirking. "I slept with the right editors, of course," she says, and that earns her Frankie's first laugh for the night.

They duck into the pub when it starts raining, and by then the air inside's already laced with the stench of beer and thick with cigarette smoke. In a corner some men are huddled in front of a television, yelling at the screen; Naomi figures it might be football.

"I never did like sports," Frankie says, sliding into the seat across Naomi's in a booth, already relatively far away from the crowd but somehow still as noisy. "You?"

"It used to work as good aggression therapy," Naomi replies.

"Violent streak, hmm?"

"Seems fitting we met in the precinct, no?"

A waitress comes by to take their orders, and Naomi watches amusedly as Frankie flusters the hell out of her in the few moments she spends standing there with her pen. The girl exits with a blush and some brief fidgeting, afterwards.

"Well. That was something," Naomi says, following the girl with her eye -- not quite tall but proportionately slim, hair unbelievably black, generally likeable features, the works -- but what she's saying is actually more a comment on Frankie than the girl, anyway.

Frankie sits back and stretches before answering lazily, "You know that moment a person shifts from nonchalance and into some form of pleased discomfort? That's what I'm after." And then, leaning closer to Naomi, her elbows on the table, "Always looks good in photos, too -- blushing, candid laughter."

Naomi's always been curious, what it is photographers usually look for -- sure, she's dabbled in photography, a little, but then when a place is naturally pretty, it does about 99 percent of the work for you. For profiles anyway, the magazine almost always sent a photographer with her so she doesn't have to think about anything else apart from the interview.

When their drinks arrive, Frankie mutters a thank you, and Naomi catches her touching the girl's wrist, but only so lightly. The girl struggles to come out with a respectable, "You're welcome," but her voice comes out raspy and barely there, and Naomi can almost see how she's tried to put herself together better on the way over, only to fail drastically -- again.

"I'm guessing you'll be on her mind for the rest of the night," says Naomi, sipping from her beer while watching the girl leave for another table.

"I was just being _friendly_ ," Frankie says, though off the smirk on her face, Naomi just thinks -- _Well, maybe not entirely._

There's a brief moment of silence before they let themselves laugh out loud. Naomi can't put a finger on it just now, but there's _something_ about Frankie -- it puts Naomi at ease, and how quickly. For someone who began as a teenager with much distrust for anyone, this baffles her; then again, much of the past few years have been filled with baffling things, all right.

"You were trying to _pull_ ," Naomi says, still laughing, and Frankie takes a swig, smiling as she shakes her head. "But why not? She's… generally attractive."

Frankie wipes her lips with the back of a hand before putting her beer down on the table. "Are _you_ trying to pull?"

Naomi laughs harder, preparing to take a swig in kind. "Don't try turning this around on me."

"I was just _asking_."

There's a round of rowdy cheering from the corner and when Naomi turns to look, the men huddled in front of the television were now hugging each other, fists raised in the air.

"Looks like a win already," Naomi says flatly. "The bar should be quieter now, I suppose."

From across her, Frankie's lighting a fag. After a moment, someone's greeting Frankie with a familiar curt voice and when Naomi turns to look in kind, she sees the officer and the ex-girlfriend, in matching attractive coats. Naomi tries to rein her laugh in, for propriety.

"I don't think we've met," the officer says, taking her hand out of a coat pocket and offering to shake Naomi's. "Sam Murray."

"Naomi." There's a pause -- the woman's arresting, and it almost feels like she's _betraying_ Frankie, having paused like this to collect herself. "Campbell. Not the model," she smiles, shaking the hand firmly. "Nice to run into you again, detective."

"I met her at the precinct," Frankie cuts in. "That night."

"I'm friends with Katie Fitch," says Naomi. There's an edge to Frankie's voice that suddenly makes Naomi nervous.

"Ah, of course," Sam laughs. At some point, the woman with her offers her own hand with a soft introduction herself.

"Cat," she says, smiling nervously as she eyes Frankie for a split-second. _Was this how tense it was with Emily before?_ Naomi finds herself wondering. "If you ever need design help, I'll be happy to -- here." There's rummaging in a bag, and then a card; once Naomi confirms enough, she has to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing out really loud.

"I suppose you're friends with the designer Emily Fitch as well?" Cat asks.

Naomi takes a moment to look at Frankie, who's got this, _Well?_ -question on her face, raised brow and all. "I am, yes," she says finally, swallowing. "We went to college together."

"Small world," Cat breathes out, beaming now, apparently more at ease.

"Suppose we'll be seeing the both of you around, then," Sam says, thankfully finding a way to smoothly end this conversation. Then, to Frankie, "See you Frfankie."

Frankie just nods wordlessly, and with that the two of them turn to head for the bar -- and possibly get a table far away.

Once they're out of earshot, Naomi leans in. "You're obviously still in love with her."

Frankie rolls her eyes, crushing her mostly un-smoked cigarette against the ashtray before lighting another one. Naomi nods a silent, _May I?_ toward the pack on the table and Frankie pushes it toward her with a finger, blowing smoke to the side. After all this time, it's still rare for Naomi to meet someone she doesn't have to use so many words with to get things across, and to a degree, it's almost like being with Effy.

"You dated that designer, didn't you," Frankie says finally, and Naomi nearly coughs the smoke out. "The look on your face at the sight of the card -- I wish I had my camera."

It's Naomi's turn to roll her eyes. "Whatever, Franks."

"Doesn't answer my question, does it."

Naomi takes a long drag before crushing her cigarette finally, squinting at Frankie through the smoke between them. "Fine, you want to talk about ghosts then?"

Frankie just smiles and sits back, stretching a little before rolling her shoulders. "Got all night, yeah?"

Naomi just shakes her head, reaching for the pack between them a second time. It looks like a pretty long night ahead, but it isn't like she's got anywhere else to be.

*

The thing with Emily is that Naomi doesn't really know where to start about her – everything prior to their reunion years later seems so juvenile, now that she thinks about it, but then to _not_ include that part feels altogether inaccurate.

"So?" Frankie says finally, downing her third bottle for the night and lining it up alongside the first and the second. "When I said I got all night, I didn't mean—"

"There's always that girl, you know?" Naomi breathes in, and Frankie rearranges herself as if she were about to listen to a _really_ great story. "Emily was my first girlfriend."

"In college, of course."

"Yeah. We tried to stay together through university despite the distance, but then it didn't work out, so. Yeah. That ended. Quite uneventful, that." Naomi pauses to look at Frankie, who just gives her a _Carry on_ sort of stare. "Well, that's until one time x number of years later -- bam."

Frankie raises a brow, propping her face up one elbow. "Bam, what?"

"Bam, like -- we kind of fall back into each other's orbit again."

"And it's like you never even broke up, is what I'm hearing."

Naomi smirks, eyeing Frankie levelly. "Would have been all right, had I been not married at that point."

Had Frankie been drinking something, she certainly would have spit it out – or at least, it certainly looked like it. "Fuck me," she says, grinning. "You're married?"

"Not anymore – of course not, Christ," Naomi shakes her head, making a show even of her ring-less hand, complete with fingers wriggling. "But that time, I was and Emily was making it hard for me to stay married--and to a _man_ , no less."

"You were married to a _bloke_ ," Frankie laughs. "You're a curious thing, aren't you?"

"That I am." Naomi finds herself smiling wider as she helps herself to another fag, and Frankie calls for another round of beer. "So that second time I called it off, and then I divorced my husband, then I was never in any one place too long for a few years." A pause. "And then I bumped into her again."

"For Christ's sake," says Frankie, the disbelief in her face actually quite adorable. "Is that all you ever do – bump into each other over and over?"

Naomi's never thought of it _that_ way before, and what she's feeling now is a sort of epiphany – albeit kind of laced with alcohol, but still. "Yeah," she just says. "I guess that's what it is."

"And you're still _not_ together."

Naomi shrugs. That time she found Emily again at the beach -- certainly there was a sort of summer madness there, and until now she hasn't found a memory as fond as that time they walked down the beach shore together one night, arms around each other's shoulder and far too drunk with all sorts of mixed drinks – but it just wasn't the same. Naomi felt like she wanted to be together _as much as_ she wanted to be apart.

"It works best this way," says Naomi. "We always know how to find each other, anyway."

Frankie nods into her beer, says nothing for a while. The quiet gap gives Naomi enough time to snatch the momentum from her.

"Your turn," Naomi smiles. "What's your deal?"

"Me?

"Yeah – you and that, what's-her-name – Cat?" Naomi fishes her card back out of a pocket and places it out on the table for show. Frankie leans in to pick it up, flips it over in between her fingers once, twice, somewhat slowly. Naomi only notes the gesture with an amused smile on her face, but says nothing else.

"Pretty much like you," Frankie says finally, handing the card back. "We were in school. We were a great deal younger."

Eyes to the card, Naomi says casually, "You must have been a heartbreaker." She looks up in time to see Frankie look away, this somewhat embarrassed-looking smile on her lips. _Yeah, just like that,_ Naomi thinks.

Frankie shrugs. "Perhaps," she says, taking a slow sip from her bottle; Naomi's surprised Frankie hasn't emptied it just yet. "It was all a mess, and for the most part it was my fault."

Naomi tries to wait it out, but when the pause becomes too long, she goes ahead and asks, "What happened?"

"I just wasn't ready, so I left. I got scared."

"Ah." Naomi bites her lip; for some reason, she's not at all surprised to find out how she and Frankie are very much alike. "Turns out you and I share a lot of things in common."

"Oh?"

"I was helplessly in love with her – I was twelve, and I was fighting it and when she came to me, it was – I was horrible," Naomi can't help but laugh. She _was_ a horrible teenager – that much she's admitted to herself over the course of the years. "But at some point, it felt like – oh _fuck it all_ , you know?"

"I know, I know," Frankie nods, smiling now. "We reached this point where we got a bit crazy, you know – thought we fucking owned the world, blah. And _then_ , I fucking came to, and – well. Booked a fucking flight to _New York_. End of."

"Fuck you, you did not."

"I did."

"Fuck, that must have broken Cat's heart."

Frankie pauses before saying, quietly, "Yeah. It did."

Naomi's still shaking her head when Frankie orders a fresh round, and Naomi feels suddenly parched. "I tried to go away, you know – Cyprus, or something. But I couldn't, it was – it was what it was. Just – this extraordinary moment of insanity."

"Agreed," Frankie just says, handing Naomi a bottle and holding up hers for a toast. "To extraordinary moments."

Naomi clinks her bottle against Frankie's before taking a swig. "To friends old and new," she just says in return, and Frankie only nods in reply.

*

By the time they're done, the rain's stopped pouring and they amble out of the bar to walk slowly to Naomi's car, carefully avoiding puddles the best they can, given the alcohol in their veins.

At the sound of Naomi fumbling with her keys, Frankie has a realization. "You shouldn't drive."

Naomi cocks a brow at her before understanding what she's trying to say. "Suppose I could still catch a cab at this hour, no?"

"No, no need for a cab," Frankie shakes her head, waving her hand unsteadily. "I live nearby." Off Naomi's scowl, she continues, "Oh, for fuck's sake – if I had been trying to pull _you_ , I would have done it hours ago."

"Fuck you Franks," Naomi laughs, giving Frankie a slight shove. There's some wisdom in Frankie's suggestion actually – Naomi had been trying to open her door approximately five minutes now and she still can't get the fucking key in, for crying out loud. Sighing loudly, she pockets her keys and turns to Frankie, who's now leaning against her car and lighting up. "All right. Where to?"

Frankie smirks, handing Naomi the now-crumpled pack. "This way," she says, watching Naomi light hers in kind, shaky hands and all. "Don't worry, we'll walk slowly."

"Shut up," Naomi says, shoving her free hand into a pocket before giving in to another round of laughter. Frankie laughs along, putting a hand around Naomi's shoulder, casual like siblings.

After the laugh dies down, Naomi clears her throat. "Am I _unattractive_ , though?"

Frankie just pulls her in closer. "I wouldn't say that," she says, grinning as she hauls Naomi with her to turn a corner, and Naomi staggers a little to keep up. "Just not my type."

"For fuck's sake," Naomi mutters, cursing as she steps into a small puddle. "Just keep walking."

Frankie laughs again, and on the quiet street, it rings.

*

It's not the first time Naomi wakes in a completely alien bed, but it's _never_ not strange no matter how long she's been traveling, and still there's this jolt that moment she first opens her eyes.

Frankie's in the kitchen when Naomi finds her. "You hungover?" she asks Naomi, looking up from her cup. She's got some papers scattered on the kitchen counter, and not all of them look like newspapers.

"A bit," says Naomi, leaning against the doorframe by the kitchen, pressing a fingertip to her temple. Truth is, Naomi hasn't had that much to drink in a long while, since Katie usually preferred coffee. "Out of practice, as usual."

"Or age," says Frankie, grinning into her cup and not looking up from the paper she's reading. "Coffee's ready if you want some."

Naomi pushes herself off the doorframe and enters the kitchen finally, settling beside Frankie with her coffee warm in her hands. How she manages to wear that little clothing on a cold morning like this is baffling (that thin wife beater can't possibly do her much, Naomi's just saying); but then again, probably not more baffling than the bongo set out in the living room.

"You a musician?"

Frankie shakes her head. "Just a fan of bongos," she says flatly, almost managing that bored expression until it breaks down somewhere halfway through the effort.

"Nobody's _just a fan_ of bongos, Frankie."

"It was there when I moved in, for the record."

"Talk about 'fully furnished' hmm?"

Frankie shrugs, putting her cup down. "Perks of having dated a real estate agent briefly, apparently. Best deals in _any_ town."

"Is that right," Naomi says, for a moment distracted by the sight of Frankie's cup on a potentially important piece of paper. "That's going to stain."

"Which?" Frankie picks her coffee back up, taking a look at the paper underneath. Naomi sees a name scribbled there, and beside that a number. "Oh, right."

Naomi bites her lip. The writing's still legible, and from where she's standing she's close enough to actually be able read it. Underneath the name, there's what seems like an address, and right then Naomi can feel her inner journalist slowly bubbling to the surface, irrepressibly curious.

"Just ask," Frankie says finally.

"What brought you here?"

"What?"

Naomi takes a sip from her coffee, now gone cold. She clears her throat, tearing her eyes away from the name scribbled on the paper. "You were in New York a long time, weren't you? What brought you here?"

The way Frankie just holds her coffee cup near her lips for a moment too long tells Naomi she's gone someplace else for a split-second. And then, Frankie says, "My aunt died. She practically raised me, so."

Naomi's gut plummets at that; a part of her wishes she hadn't asked. "I'm sorry."

"S'alright," Frankie says, turning away from the counter to put her cup in the sink. "Well. _That_ brought me out of New York. Not exactly _here_ right away, but--hereabouts."

"Ah," Naomi says, noting the shift in Frankie's tone. And then, joining Frankie by the sink with her own empty cup, she adds: "So did Cat get you at the airport or what?"

Frankie smiles and Naomi heaves a sigh of relief. "If I were a bit fuller of myself, by now I'd be thinking you're doing a piece on me, or something," says Frankie.

Naomi smirks. _Well. There's a thought._ "Shouldn't put it past me, you know."

"You're a pesky lot, you journos," Frankie says. "But by far you're the most pleasant I've been with, and I've been with a few."

"Been with, as in jobs or as in…"

Frankie laughs, walking toward the other side of the kitchen to sit in one of the chairs. "Suppose I used to have a problem mixing business with pleasure."

"Ah," says Naomi. The space behind her ear suddenly feels inappropriately warm, and she supposes it's not just the sight of Frankie's bare arms, or anything. "I used to have that problem too."

"Slept with your editors, right?" asks Frankie, brow raised and all, as she lights up right in the middle of her kitchen. Naomi looks up, looking for smoke detectors. None.

"My ex-husband was a colleague," Naomi says, stepping forward to grab a fag off the table. "I was kidding about my editors – no offense, but it's so hard looking for an attractive one."

"I wish I remember the name of that woman editor I slept with once," Frankie remarks, casual. "I suppose it really depends where you're at – she was _fit_."

"Hah, I am glad you don't remember her name – I don't want to know," says Naomi, fiddling with the ash at the tip of her cigarette, and Frankie pushes the makeshift ashtray in the middle of the table toward her. "But when you're running the hotel-museum circuit, you're really better off sleeping with sources."

"Hotel owners?"

Naomi nods. "Museum curators, landscape architects, interior designers—" Her breath hitches as the thought. _Emily. After all these years, still—_

"Any photographers, if I may ask?"

Naomi narrows her eyes at her. "I invoke my right against self-incrimination."

"Fair enough," Frankie laughs. "Just -- don't get me started on architects, yeah?"

"Let's not then," Naomi smiles, drawing from her fag. She watches as Frankie leans in to crush her cigarette against the ashtray, pausing a moment before slipping out a new one. "That time Emily and I met again, it was my fault – I hired her."

"To design your house?"

"Looked her up on the internet and thought – well. Might as well."

Frankie exhales upward before returning her eye to Naomi. "You're stuck, aren't you?"

"And you aren't?"

Frankie sighs. "You've got me figured out, haven't you?"

"It’s like looking at myself to be honest."

Frankie grins at that, and in her head, Naomi's piecing together how she got here – the night at the precinct, bumping into Frankie at the pub, having one drink too many and now here they are in the morning after, a cup of coffee and a couple of cigarettes hence.

And she hasn't even slept with her. Katie would totally not believe her, but it is what it is.

Frankie finishes her cigarette before pushing herself off her chair. "You're welcome to stay, but I must rush out to get a presentation running," she says, glancing at the clock. "In half an hour."

Half an hour? Clearly the girl's crazy, but then Naomi understands the adrenaline rush caused by deadline-beating and last-minute cramming. "I should get going anyway," says Naomi in kind, getting up and crushing her cigarette in the ashtray as well. "To do... something. Whatever. I'll figure it out."

"You're not doing anything today, are you?"

Naomi shrugs. _Now she's down to twenty-five minutes_ , she thinks, nervously looking at the clock. "Errands, then precinct, then whatever comes up, I guess."

"Hmm," Frankie shrugs back, exiting the kitchen, and from where she's standing Naomi can hear her padding into her room, and opening drawers. Naomi briefly wonders how she'll look like in corporate clothes.

When Naomi walks back into the living room, Frankie's putting a shirt on; of course, had Naomi really expected some drastic power dressing here? "I think you're down to twenty minutes tops," Naomi reminds her.

"I wouldn't worry so much if I were you," Frankie winks at her. "If your schedule's open – meetings are off by 2, maybe. Drinks then?"

Naomi heads for the door, hand in her pocket feeling for her car keys – had she really slept over with little else? "Whatever," she just says, pulling it open. "You know where to find me."

"Wondering what to do to land there this time," Frankie says.

"Be creative," Naomi smirks at Frankie one last time before closing the door after her.

Outside, it's getting warmer; stepping out of Frankie's apartment, Naomi sees a bakery across the road flipping its sign to "Open."

 _First things first: Donuts,_ Naomi just thinks, breathing in.

*

"Where were you the whole night?" is how Katie greets her on the phone, and Naomi winces a little; with her headset nestled so comfortably in her ear, the volume in Katie's voice manages to produce a sort of stabbing feeling in her neck.

"Morning, Katie," says Naomi, clearing her throat as she parks in front of the precinct. She glances at her dashboard clock: a little before 8. "Are my donuts catching you in the precinct, or are you already — ok, never mind I see you." Naomi ends the call and tosses her phone in the glove compartment, watching Katie amusedly as she surveys the area for Naomi's car. Naomi honks twice before getting out, bag of donuts in one hand.

Katie spots her soon enough, fiddling with her tie as she walks down the precinct's front stairs. From afar, she looks like Emily from when Naomi first met her; she makes a mental note to tell Katie, maybe a haircut is due.

"Where the fuck were you?" Katie asks upon getting to Naomi's car. Naomi sighs, handing her the bag of donuts, which Katie accepts with a scowl. "So? You weren't answering your fucking phone, for the record. It's a fucking reasonable question."

 _Shit,_ Naomi thinks, remembering how she'd left her phone in her car last night. "Sorry," she says, taking a donut from the bag. "I was out drinking with Frankie."

Katie bites into her donut before the epiphany hits her. "Frankie? As in _that_ Frankie?"

The way Katie looks at her – Naomi knows _that_ look, all right. "We're just friends, Katie."

"The fact that you have to defend that first thing is not quite assuring, Naomi," Katie says.

Naomi ponders that a bit; sad to say Katie's quite right. As she usually is. "But still – doesn't make it less true."

"I called your house, you know. Someone certainly didn't sleep in her own bed last night," Katie continues, focused on her donut. And then, looking at Naomi with a softening expression, "It's all right to see other people, Naomi. You _are_ single now, remember?"

Naomi looks away to hide a wince. Since coming back here and getting back in touch with Katie, they'd tiptoed around the subject of Emily so carefully in that neither of them even made an indirect reference to her. "Thanks for the reminder," she replies, though it's out so weak and soft that the expected venom's practically not there.

Katie slides in closer, touching Naomi's shoulder with hers; it's Katie's gesture of comfort, and it warms Naomi slightly. "Seriously, Naomi – this has got to stop."

"What has got to stop?"

Sighing, Katie gestures to the parking lot. "It's 8 in the morning and you're in the precinct parking lot with your ex-girlfriend's _twin._ Not that I don't like being brought donuts, but—"

"We're not _dating_ , Katie," says Naomi, smiling and rolling her eyes.

"The amount of time we're spending together, we might as well," Katie says. "But really Campbell – not in a million _years_."

Naomi shakes her head, pushing herself off the car and pulling her door open just as Katie moves for the passenger seat. "Katie," she begins, fiddling with the seatbelt. She reaches over for the glove compartment to retrieve her phone – a couple of messages, none of them from Frankie. _Of course – have we even exchanged numbers?_

"You were saying?" Katie asks.

Naomi blinks. "Just. Yeah, I get it okay?" she says quietly, turning her ignition on. She'd expected a little sarcastic ribbing from Katie, but not this sort of support – to admit she's been somewhat caught off-guard. "I'm just – it takes a while to get my footing back."

Katie nods. "All right." And then, "Sorry, I didn't mean to—remind you. Or anything."

"I needed reminding, I think." Naomi backs out of the slot and drives out slowly. They pass by the parking attendants, who give Katie a salute; Katie only nods back, and it's always at this point that Naomi notices how weary Katie actually is after her shift.

"Tell you what," Katie begins, just as Naomi pulls into the main road. "Let me fix us some coffee when we get home, okay?"

Naomi smiles. "Sounds good, but aren't you tired?"

"A bit," Katie admits, sighing as she sinks into her seat. "But I can handle coffee."

"Whatever you say."

The rest of the drive is quiet, and Naomi's predictably lost in her thoughts, as she usually is during these rides – it's nothing regular, not exactly a routine, but these past few days she's found herself catching breakfast with Katie, post-shift. It's either she comes to Katie after a night out, or spends the night reading in the worn couch tucked in the corner of Katie's office.

(After all this time, Naomi still finds it hard to sleep at night, in that house Emily once rebuilt.)

Upon reaching Naomi's building, Katie goes ahead and pockets the keys to Naomi's door, leaving Naomi to lock her car. Usually, Naomi catches her in the lift, and even there they don't talk. When they reach Naomi's floor, Katie steps out first, like she were the one who lived here.

For the most part, Naomi's just glad to be not spending her mornings alone – never mind that it's with a girl who once made her life hell, for starters. She watches as Katie opens the door with such familiarity, and Naomi almost sees the girl Katie _should_ be – after all this time, there's still that dull ache.

(The last time she saw Emily: Two years ago – or is it actually three now? Maybe even longer. She's stopped counting.)

When she steps into her apartment after Katie, the first thing she sees is Katie's gun on the table; the sight of it slows her down. In the kitchen, the water has started boiling.

"How many times do I have to tell you," Naomi begins, pulling a chair across Katie.

"Not to leave my gun out on your table, I heard you the first time," Katie completes for her, tugging her tie loose before pulling at her ponytail and shaking her hair out a bit with a sigh. Her hair's _that_ color again; Naomi makes a mental note again to tell Katie it's still better a shade or two darker.

"It makes me nervous, is all," says Naomi.

"Sorry--I'll pick it up on the way out."

Naomi sighs, watching Katie move about in her kitchen – sometimes, it's still hard _not_ to see Emily there, but Naomi thinks it's better to have company anyhow. (Katie or no, she sees Emily anyway, sometimes.)

When the water's ready, Katie pulls out the cups from the drawers without saying a word – it's easy, they're always where Katie left them from before – and Naomi mutters a soft "Thanks" as Katie lowers her cup of coffee on the table.

Later, once Katie's already halfway through her cup, she finally begins talking. "So. Frankie."

"What about Frankie?" asks Naomi, taking a slow sip.

"She's still in love with that architect, isn't she?" Katie asks. "Officer Murray's girlfriend now, of course." And then, "What's her story, anyway?"

"Oh you know," Naomi sighs, trying to sound nonchalant. "Teenage lovers; didn't quite make it."

"Sounds familiar," Katie smiles. "Is that what you talked about all night then?" Off Naomi's nod, she adds: "No wonder there was a lot of drinking."

"I'm embarrassingly out of practice," says Naomi, putting her cup down. "It's your fault, by the way; all I ever drink these days is _coffee_."

"Can't eat donuts with _beer_ , can you now?" Katie asks, raising a brow; Naomi just laughs. "Seriously, though. Be _careful_."

Naomi narrows her eyes. "Is this because of that time she got arrested for attempted arson?"

" _Naomi_."

"All right, all right," Naomi says, surrendering for the sake of non-argument. _All right—whatever that means._

*

The next thing she knows, Katie's nudging her awake – turns out they'd fallen asleep and Katie's just walked from the bed to the sofa, where sleep must have caught up with Naomi quite quickly.

"It's Frankie," says Katie sleepily.

"Who?" asks Naomi back. "Wait. What?"

"Desk called to say a certain Frankie Alan was looking for me. Naturally," Katie breathes in, wrapping Naomi's blanket around herself tighter. "She's looking for you, not me."

"Ah," Naomi just says, sitting up. She catches the time on the kitchen clock – half past 1. Seems like they practically slept through lunch. "You hungry?"

Katie considers the question, before rubbing her stomach involuntary. "A bit, yeah," she says, walking back to Naomi's bedroom. Naomi almost thinks she's gone back to sleep, but Katie's out just as quickly, marching around Naomi's flat barefoot in her dark blue tank top and dress slacks, eyes scanning the floor, presumably for her shoes. Naomi spies Katie's blouse hanging on the back of a dining room chair.

"Shoes?" Naomi asks, eyeing the tip of Katie's boots peeking from under the sofa, so that Katie only has to follow Naomi's line of vision.

"Yeah, thanks," says Katie upon retrieval, sitting herself down to put them on, a foot at a time. Naomi tries not to stare at how Katie fills that tank top quite nicely, the glint of Katie's necklace catching her eye once. "Any idea why Frankie's looking for you, eh?"

"Drinks again, I suppose," Naomi says, stretching. _Probably a good time to change into different clothes_ , she tells herself.

"What are you, twenty-year-olds?" Katie asks, tying her shoelaces and polishing the tip of a boot with the heel of her palm. _Not that it can still get any shinier,_ Naomi thinks. "It's not even 24 hours later."

"I'll be fine, _Mom_ ," Naomi snickers.

"Remember, my gun's on that table over there."

"Fine," Naomi rolls her eyes. Katie always wins conversations this way, anyway, and Naomi hasn't been able to find a good enough counterargument, so she just sits back and lets Katie get dressed, watching as Katie puts her blouse back on and buttons it up carefully.

At the door, while Katie clips her belt back on, Naomi clears her throat. "I'm just saying," Naomi begins, standing alongside Katie as she puts her gun back into its holster. "Maybe a haircut is in order?"

"Haircut hm?"

"Just maybe."

Katie pauses to consider. "Is it because—am I a little too like—"

"Yeah," Naomi just says.

The old Katie would have said, _How fucking dare you._ Or, _Why the fuck should I care._ But this Katie now just calmly pulls the door open and says, "I'll think about it."

 _Keeper of the Peace-Fitch_ , Naomi just thinks, smiling to herself.

She kind of likes that a lot.

*

She drops Katie off in her apartment; after all, she isn't due back until later that night, and Naomi thinks Katie could use a few more hours of sleep. "Just make sure to not leave your phone just anywhere tonight, yeah?" Katie says before disembarking. "Just – let me know you're still alive. Okay?"

Naomi gives her a mock salute. "Promise." And with that, Katie turns away with a sigh.

She waits until Katie's in the building fully before restarting her engine, and her phone starts buzzing as if on schedule. When Naomi gets to it, it's an unknown number. "Hello?"

"Guess you're not a regular fixture here after all," says the voice on the other end. _Of course. Frankie._

"How'd you get this number?"

"Through perseverance and much annoyance," says Frankie grinning. "Not to be imposing at all but – where are you?"

 _In front of my ex-girlfriend's twin sister's apartment complex._ "Nearby," Naomi says instead. "I'll catch you at the pub."

"All right then," says Frankie, the sound of her snapping her phone shut catching in Naomi's ear.

Naomi glimpses the time on her car's dashboard: 2:15 in the afternoon. She'll likely be drunk before dinner, she thinks – but then again, that may not be a bad idea at all.

It's dark in the pub when Naomi enters – they usually serve lunch, but then in the absence of customers, all the lights are practically out. Naomi spots Frankie at the bar, predictably flirting with the person behind it – this far-too-young boy who's wiping the bar top and putting away glasses. Frankie turns her head just in time to catch Naomi looking on, amused.

"Anything that moves, eh?" Naomi asks as she slides in beside Frankie; by then the boy had already excused himself to get their drinks. "He would have made a very pretty girl, though."

"I was just being _friendly_ ," says Frankie, and in the dark, Naomi almost misses the glint of mischief there. _So this is how it's going to be,_ Naomi thinks, smiling back.

When their drinks arrive, Frankie takes an initial swig, before pushing herself off the bar and proceeding to a booth by a tinted window, relatively better lit than the rest of the room.

"You're very friendly," Naomi says, sliding into the seat across Frankie's, taking a swig off the bottle in her hand.

Frankie laughs. "We were the only people in the room."

"Fair enough," Naomi grins, lifting her bottle for a toast, the sound of glass clinking so loud in a place so quiet. "How'd your meetings go, by the way?"

Frankie grimaces a little, nearly downing the rest of her beer in one go before answering. "Better than expected, actually. Got a few projects lined up."

"Isn't that supposed to be good news?" Naomi asks, still confused by the seeming contradiction brewing on Frankie's face.

Frankie gives her a look, and somewhere in her head, Naomi's thinking, _Oh_. "Cat's in all of them," says Frankie, and Naomi can hear that sort of ache in her voice that betrays how she's actually kind of looking forward to it.

Naomi feels a twinge of something familiar. "Are you going to take the jobs then?"

"Already have. I could always use the money," Frankie answers, running a finger down the side of her now-empty beer bottle. Naomi looks around for the young boy behind the bar and motions for the menu and another round of beer.

Naomi orders a burger with a side of fries, suddenly remembering how she's actually running on an empty stomach, the acid from the beer settling in quite uncomfortably now. Frankie eyes her curiously before producing a pack of cigarettes from a pocket.

"How'd you do that? With Emily, I meant," Frankie asks, eyes still looking unbelievably sad; it throws Naomi, somewhat. "Seeing her again. Then seeing her every day."

Naomi used to ask herself that, a lot -- _how the hell did I get here? How the hell did it get this far?_ \-- and in the end, there really was no proper answer. "You just do it," she says, eventually, pushing her plate toward Frankie. "Then you get used to it. One day at a time, they say."

Frankie takes one small piece off the edge of the plate and nibbles on it. "That easy, huh?"

"That's not even the hard part," Naomi says. "The hard part's when you're already used to it and _then_ you have to go without it again."

Frankie winces before lighting up her cigarette. "You don't pull your punches, do you?"

"I don't feel like I have to with you," Naomi says, reaching for the pack and lighting hers in kind. "Thing is – do you really want her back? Or is it just the nostalgia needing closure?"

Frankie shrugs, focusing on her smoke rings; in the dark, they look unbelievably solid -- these small, white, holed things that never stay for more than a few moments, at best. "I don't know," she says, turning back to her beer. Naomi wonders if she's had lunch, as in the proper sort. She thinks Frankie's looking rather pale – but then isn't she always?

Naomi clears her throat; they've reached that sort of quiet space where Frankie doesn't seem like she's about to say anything else. _Time to tell her about Ingrid._ "Have I told you about that time I got married?"

"Hm?" hums Frankie, raising a brow.

Naomi leans in closer, perching her elbows atop the table. "My wedding day. Run-of-the-mill mostly, yeah – I wore a dress, David wore a suit. We invited family; we had lots of flowers, the works. It was actually a very pleasant affair."

"Was Emily there?"

Naomi smiles; of course, Frankie would like to know about _that_. "No, this was before I met her again." And then, "Besides – how would I have told her? _Hey, I'm into boys now; by the way, I'm getting married and you're invited?_ "

Frankie manages a laugh finally, and Naomi lets a little relief course through her. "This story would have been more interesting if you had, though."

"That's not the point," Naomi shakes her head, remembering her beer and taking a sip. It had gone a bit lukewarm, but it's not like she minds. "At the time, Emily isn't the ex-girlfriend I'm seeing on the side. Just saying."

"Oh," Frankie says, lips curling into a smirk slowly. "So _who_ was it then?"

"A girl I used to go out with in uni, Ingrid."

"Is she anything like her?" asks Frankie, finishing off her beer. "Ingrid, I meant. Was she anything like Emily?"

"Oh, no – not at all," says Naomi, the unlit fag hanging from her lips twitching as she spoke. She pauses to light it before, "Ingrid was more… like _me_ , attitude-wise. Headstrong, argumentative – we fought a lot."

Frankie wiggles her eyebrow at her, a goofy smile on her lips – to which Naomi only rolls her eyes. _It's like drinking with Effy and Cook rolled into one,_ she thinks, and there's a clutching feeling in her chest – she makes a mental note to ask Katie about them later.

"She was in the city when I got married – David and I honeymooned in Bonn, because it was the practical choice as David was on assignment, and I bumped into Ingrid in a bar."

"So you cheated on your brand new husband with this woman while you're on your honeymoon? Man, you're something else," Frankie shakes her head, grinning. "Why are you telling me this again?"

Naomi shrugs. "Seems like a good story to tell on an afternoon like this," she just says, eyeing the bottles of beer between them. There's a curious buzz that has already begun creeping into her head, and Naomi leans in to take a long drag off her fag in an attempt to sort herself out. "Stories go with beer rather well."

"Right," says Frankie, nodding. "Suppose you want to hear a story from me?"

Naomi exhales, smiling. _Look at you, getting the hint._ She turns to motion to the boy behind the bar. "This round's on me, definitely," she says. By then the pub's still mostly dark and empty; the clock says it isn't even five.

"Eager," Frankie just says, drawing from her fag. "Where do I start?"

"I have a soft spot for beginnings," Naomi replies, for a moment remembering a scene: Two girls in a forest by the lake, after the rain. _Always a good spot to begin, that one,_ she just thinks.

Frankie crushes her cigarette and quickly lights a new one. "All right, then -- a beginning."

*

It starts like any other – in school, and Naomi finds it rather hard to imagine Frankie in a uniform, walking past hallways with a camera around her neck.

"It was for the yearbook," Frankie says, smiling absently, like she's not there in the pub with Naomi but elsewhere and younger. "They had me do some re-shoots because there weren't enough photos of boys."

Naomi laughs. "Predictable."

"Why would anyone bother to take photos of entirely unmemorable things?" Frankie grins back. "But I did the re-shoot anyway – Cat was _furious_."

"Not enough photos of her?"

"Ah, well." Frankie looks away, and Naomi notices a hint of a blush. She's considering whether to press it, but decides against it in the end. "After graduation, I had her sign my yearbook – we were sat in the field behind our school. That's where I taught her how to smoke."

"People say if there's any one person you could genuinely hate, it's that person who introduces you to cigs – just sayin'," Naomi smiles, almost hearing it again in her head. _Fuck it then – go ahead and disappoint me._

"Really?" Frankie asks, and Naomi only raises a brow in response. Frankie sits back, nursing her beer. "I have a feeling Cat did hate me – for plenty other reasons."

"I can imagine."

Frankie pauses, her stare stuck in the mid-distance, and then that absent smile. "Do you want to know what I was doing when I got the call my aunt had died?"

"Some model you were working with in New York?" Naomi says nonchalantly.

Eyes wide, Frankie just says, "Spot-on always, how come?"

"As I've said," Naomi begins, looking at Frankie through the smoke. "It's like looking in the mirror."

*

Later that night, against best advice, they find themselves in Naomi's car, parked across the street from Cat's flat.

"I wish I brought my binoculars," says Naomi, holding a fag out of her window. "I didn't know we were going to a fucking _stakeout_."

Frankie laughs out drunkenly, settling her chin upon her arms on Naomi's dashboard. "I thought you were all about experiments and stuff?"

Naomi rolls her eyes. Frankie's fucking drunk and yet she manages to remember these small details. "Fuck off, that wasn't _me_."

"Just teasing you," says Frankie, before her face shifts to something more serious. When Naomi looks back at the window they'd been staring at, the light has already come on, and Naomi thinks, _Well, about time someone gets home_.

Naomi notes the movement inside, squinting – she wasn't kidding about the binoculars, her eyes have _aged_ \-- but it doesn't take too long for her to figure out _who's_ home.

"That Sam cop – she's a bit of a problem, innit?" asks Naomi.

The way Frankie just says, "Yeah," – so quiet, so resigned – prompts Naomi to reach out and grip her by the shoulder, in what should come off as a gesture of comfort.

Naomi considers that – most times, it's the first ones that cause the trouble: those mythical first girlfriends with whom you share the kiss first, the bed first. Everything first – and Naomi knows a lot about things not measuring up to _that_ , but looking at things here, it's almost like Frankie doesn't stand a chance against this cop.

"If you love her—"

"I know—be happy for her, right? Sam's obviously a good catch – reliable, accomplished. Hopefully, she's better at this… _thing_." Frankie pauses, smiling as she sits back and sinks into the passenger seat. "I mean, in comparison to me, anybody's—"

"Frankie. Don't be too hard on yourself," says Naomi, tearing her eyes away from the window to turn to her. Frankie's still staring, and Naomi can almost see what _she_ does – two shadows coming too close together, somewhere in there. "If it's any consolation – you're way fitter."

Frankie raises a brow, lips curling into a lopsided smile. "Than Sam? Nonsense; I'd totally shag that."

"Really?" Naomi shifts in her seat, suddenly uncomfortably warm at the thought.

"You're flushed," says Frankie, biting her lip. "Is it me or Sam?"

 _Or the two of you together._ "Fuck off," Naomi laughs, though the sound comes out shaky. _What the fuck is happening?_ "We should – you know, maybe get out of here."

"Right," Frankie says, that patent lazy smile on her face again, and Naomi shifts in her seat one more time before turning the ignition on.

Her car sputters to life unsteadily, and Naomi tries not to shout out too loud when it plows right through a nearby trash bin. Naomi closes her eyes. "Fuck."

"Is everything all right, Miss?" _Motherfucking--_ Naomi opens her eyes slowly, only to find herself squinting against the light being swung at her. _Of all the fucking times to not have Katie here._ Beside her, she can hear Frankie laughing softly.

"If you would just step out of the vehicle, please."

Naomi sighs.

"If it's any consolation, you're not the one getting arrested twice in the span of, what, three days?" Frankie murmurs.

"Fuck off," Naomi mutters back, opening her door, her free hand feeling her pocket for her phone. And then, "Hey, Kay. A bit of a problem."

*

Naomi's still shaking her head in disbelief when she catches a glimpse of Katie finally emerging from her office, looking somewhat relieved with a folder in her hand. She remembers spying at the people being ushered into this holding room through the same small window – only she hadn't imagined sitting in this chair.

"God, I've known you, what – a week? And yet we've already been arrested _together_ ," she murmurs to Frankie, scratching at her neck. She's itching for a fag – in the end, that's what unsettles her the most.

For her part, Frankie seems a great deal more relaxed – like hanging out in precinct holding rooms were the _norm_ for her. Naomi eyes her, somewhat annoyed -- _Why doesn't she look more ruffled?_ And then, off the smirk on Frankie's face, "What part of this is amusing to you, Franks?"

Frankie laughs. "Anger suits you," she just says. "I wish I brought my camera."

"You're always saying that."

The door opens and when Naomi turns her head, she sees Katie walking in, her strides quick, purposeful. "Christ, Naomi," she says, perching herself upon the corner of the table. "When I said 'see you at the precinct' – I didn't mean you should get yourself _arrested_." And then, turning to Frankie: "Didn't I tell you to keep out of trouble?"

"Sorry," Naomi says, her eyes lowered. She's staring at the way Katie's gripping the table edge, for the lack of anywhere else to look. "Was it too much of a hassle?"

Katie sighs. "Let's just say it's going to take a lot more than coffee and donuts to make it up to me this time."

"Oh," says Naomi after a while, exhaling herself. It's been a day entirely too long, or so it feels. "Thanks, Katie." She pushes herself off the chair, a hand squeezing Katie's knee through her slacks. "Can we go?"

"Yeah, you look like you could use some sleep. What the hell have you two been up to all afternoon anyway?" Katie asks, and when Naomi throws Frankie a sideways glance, Katie immediately picks up on it. "Okay, never mind; don't answer."

"Promise it's nothing criminal, Officer," says Frankie, flashing a smile Katie's way.

Katie takes a moment before she answers, and Naomi can't help but smile at how even _Katie_ doesn't seem immune to someone with Frankie's charm. "Well and good," says Katie, clearing her throat.

There's a silent, motionless moment before Frankie pushes herself off her chair. "Well. Better be off now." She stretches before fixing her jacket and dusting her jeans. And then, to Naomi: "You staying?"

 _Was she?_ Naomi blinks, turning to Katie. "I should—"

"You should go, get some rest, whatever," Katie finishes for her, pushing something into her hand. Her phone. "Call me. When you get arrested again, or something." And then, off the puzzled, confused look Naomi gives her, "I was kidding. Don't get fucking arrested, I will fucking kill you."

Naomi breathes out, clutching her phone. "Right."

She follows Frankie out, and by then, the night air's already chilly. Naomi shoves her hands into her pockets for warmth.

"Now what?" asks Naomi.

Frankie's hugging herself similarly. "We could go drinking, or we could go home."

" _Drinking?_ " Naomi asks, incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me, I don't think I can do any more."

"So we go home then." Frankie hooks an arm around Naomi's shoulder, pulls her in and starts walking.

Frankie's warm and Naomi doesn't complain.

*

Back in Frankie's flat, Naomi finds herself smoking while sprawled on the floor of Frankie's bedroom, and she feels like she's sixteen again, lying on a rug with a girl.

True enough, Frankie's right beside her, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling while holding a half-empty bottle of vodka – despite Naomi's protests, Frankie _still_ managed to cajole her into drinking with her some more.

"It's good thing I'm technically unemployed these days," Naomi slurs. "I feel like I've ingested enough alcohol to render me useless and hung-over for a week."

"We all need a friend to go bonkers with, eh?" says Frankie, moving her cigarette-holding hand around as if to make a point. "Growing up you lose some of those. Reckon that police officer isn't one for parties now, yeah?" And then, "How'd you meet her anyway?"

The first thing that enters Naomi's barely sober mind is, _What? She doesn't know?_ "We went to college together," says Naomi.

"You mean, like Emily?"

Naomi nods. "I may have forgotten to brief you about that part where they're actually _twins_."

"What?" Frankie pushes up on her elbows and Naomi laughs out really loud, pleased with herself. _How could I have forgotten to disclose that first thing?_ "Twins, eh?"

"You should've seen Katie when she was younger; she was a fucking _nightmare_."

"I couldn't imagine," says Frankie, taking a swig off her bottle and chasing it with smoke. "What happened? What changed?"

"Emily left," Naomi says, matter-of-factly. "That usually changes people."

"Ah," Frankie just says. She knows a thing or two about that. Noticing the look on Naomi's face, she offers the bottle for the nth time; Naomi looks at it and thinks, _Fuck it,_ before finally taking a swig herself.

It courses through her chest warmly, and it surprises her, how pleasant it actually feels. Afterwards, she wipes at the corner of her lips with the edge of her thumb, and then Frankie's holding the cigarette to her lips.

"Inhale," Frankie murmurs, and then Naomi does, the smoke coursing through her veins alongside the vodka. Naomi feels warmer. _Fuck, too fast,_ she thinks, closing her eyes – mistake, mostly, because when she opens them again, the edges around things are already fuzzy.

"Fuck," she says out loud. Frankie just looks at her, unsmiling, a lit fag between them and her eyes so fucking _clear_.

"You all right?" Frankie asks finally, and Naomi wants to say, _You're too close._ Naomi pushes against her weakly, tries to say, "You're in my space," but can't. She opens her mouth and no words come out.

And so it happens like it does. The first time Frankie moves in to kiss her, they're both fucked up, in more ways than one, and Frankie tastes like some drunk mistake in uni – must be the mix of vodka and the nicotine and her warm, warm mouth. The sad thing about living so long is that everything reminds you of something else.

"Wait," Naomi murmurs in between, unsure now whether to grab Frankie closer or push her off her altogether. Frankie pauses – up close, she looks far less confident and all too vulnerable.

"What?"

Naomi considers pulling back. A part of her's saying, _This isn't right,_ but then another's asking, _What are you waiting for? Some ghosts to come back?_ She tries not to wince at the questions in her head.

Naomi looks at Frankie instead and sees a sort of ache there. _Fuck it,_ she thinks, closing her eyes as she moves closer.

*

(Not that it surprises Naomi at all, but girls like Frankie are ridiculously good in bed, even when drunk.)

*

When Naomi wakes the following morning, the first thing that comes to her mind is how she actually missed breakfast. _Shit_ , Naomi thinks, rubbing the space between her brows with the pad of a finger. Beside her, Frankie's sleeping on her stomach, and through the half-parted curtains, sunlight falls upon Frankie's naked back, illuminating her tattoo. Naomi nearly reaches out to touch it, only to catch herself midway through the effort; she pulls her hand back, inhaling sharply.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Naomi blinks a few times, coughs out a little; her throat is dry and her mouth feels like it's been swabbed with cotton repeatedly. It feels strangely like that morning she first woke with Ingrid, the bed full of crumpled course notes and photocopied pages; Naomi finds herself smiling idly at the thought.

Naomi doesn't even try to be quiet as she moves for her clothes – she finds there is no need to anyway, as Frankie sleeps like she's sound proof. Naomi waits for her to stir at the sound of rustling jeans – nothing.

All Frankie does instead is shift to her side, but even then she doesn't open her eyes. Naomi looks at her, considers writing a note. _But what would I say? 'Thanks, I had fun'?_ She's still shaking her head when she reaches the door, and when she looks over her shoulder one last time before turning the knob, she finds Frankie still knocked out and asleep.

 _Very well then,_ she just thinks, walking all the way out.

*

Naomi knocks at the door to Katie's flat twice, wondering quite belatedly if Katie had switched shifts for the day. _Why hadn't I called first?_ she thinks, absently thumbing her phone in her pocket. She'd considered going home first to change, but decided against it in the end, thinking Katie wouldn't mind whatever her status was, fashion-wise.

Katie comes to the door after the third knock, and the sight of her throws Naomi slightly--particularly that slight smear of grease upon Katie's cheek. She's wearing that black tank top she always wore under her uniform over a pair of criminally short shorts, a key dangling from her neck.

Naomi smirks at the key, lifting it off Katie's chest with two fingers. "You look like someone straight out of 'The Fast and the Furious', Katie," she teases, reaching for Katie's stained cheek with her other hand.

"Fuck off, Naomi," Katie grins, swatting the hand away playfully as she ushers Naomi in. As she passes by the living room, Katie takes her gun out from where she'd tucked it behind her. _She actually answered the door with a gun?_ Naomi shudders at the thought, looking away just as Katie places it upon the table in the middle of the living room, alongside her other firearms, all lined up side by side.

And then, perhaps sensing the scowl on Naomi's face, Katie asks: "Have you had breakfast?"

Naomi groans. The sight of Katie's guns has always made her queasy. "If you have coffee I'll be grateful," she just says, following Katie into the kitchen.

Katie hands her a cup, lets her sip a little before finally asking, "So. Last night."

 _Last night_. Naomi tries to keep drinking steadily until all the coffee's gone. "I can still feel the vodka running under my skin," she admits. And then, off the look on Katie's face, Naomi adds: "What?"

Katie smiles into her coffee. "You look so _guilty_ ," she just says, and it drives Naomi crazy.

 _How do I always end up here, really?_ Naomi sighs. "I got arrested last night, Kay. Of _course_ I look guilty," she says, trying to ward Katie off with a bit of distraction, and Katie only rolls her eyes as if she knows something else. "I hate it when you're like this," Naomi concedes.

"Keep avoiding my questions then; I can practically go on like this _forever_."

"Please don't," Naomi pleads; times like these she can't help but think, _Maybe this is how it feels like to have a sister._ Katie just smirks, pushing herself off the dinner table to proceed to the living room, where her guns are; remembering them makes Naomi frown, but then perhaps she'd walked in on some sort of mandatory Gun Cleaning Day.

"Then say something," says Katie, and when she takes her eyes off the gun she's cleaning to look at Naomi, it's like she's appending, _Yeah, I know what I'd just referenced, Christ._

Naomi bites her lip. Truth be told, she hasn't quite processed last night just yet – she was hoping coffee would help, actually, and yet here she is. In Katie's living room but wordless. "I don't know where to begin."

"How about that part when you arrive in Frankie's flat after you left the precinct?"

 _Of course, Katie's good at this, it's what she does for a living._ Naomi sits beside Katie in the living room sofa, staring at Katie's newly cleaned equipment on the table. "Vodka," Naomi says, shaking her head. "Lots of vodka."

Katie wipes the barrel of her gun one last time before setting it back on the table, the sound of metal clinking against the table surface all too loud in Katie's quiet living room. "Christ, Naomi, I have to fucking _pry_ it out of you, don't I?" she asks, elbows resting on her knees. Naomi resists the urge to tuck stray hair behind Katie's ears; she really _is_ due for a haircut.

"You slept with her, didn’t you."

The way it comes out, Naomi realizes it isn't a question at all, and the way a blush warms her face at this point is as dead a giveaway as any. "I was drunk, she was there—"

"Hey," Katie says, voice dropping to a half-whisper as she reaches out to touch Naomi's knee. Naomi thinks she must have looked so defeated, for Katie to extend such gesture. "I'm all for getting laid, you know that, but."

 _But._ Naomi sighs. "I know, it's – I've seen her look at Cat too, you know?" _And besides--I'm still in love with your sister._

"Right," Katie says, nodding. "I'm just – you know. Not like we have anyone else here, you know what I'm saying?"

Naomi nods back. Katie feels so much like family at this moment that Naomi has to try harder to keep from hugging her. "Thanks Kay, yeah?" Katie just laughs, inching away from her. "What?" Naomi asks, bursting out into a laugh herself.

"You look like you're about to hug me," says Katie. On the table, she's gathering her firearms and preparing to stow them away. _Thank God,_ Naomi sighs. "Why do you hate my guns anyway? Don't they make you feel… I don't know, safer?"

"Not really," says Naomi. "Which is not to say they don't look _hot_ on officers like yourself, but."

Katie swats her promptly at the comment, laughing louder. "Campbell."

"I'm just saying!" Naomi shrugs, laughing along. How they shift from "unbelievably tense and hungover" to "easy-going mornings" so smoothly, Naomi can't quite explain, and whenever she remembers how they started out as arch-enemies for Emily's affection, she can't help but smile.

Truth be told, Naomi thinks Katie's pretty much the best, most amusing part of this morning.

*

By the time Naomi meets Frankie again, several days have already passed. She's returned to the ever-reliable "fuck off for a while after awkward sex"-strategy that she's never really managed to unlearn even after all these years.

Frankie doesn't call, which makes it easier; Naomi knows a thing or two about how hard it is to resist phone calls, even when it's just this silly one-night stand. After some time, Naomi almost thinks she's never bumping into Frankie again – for all she knew, maybe she'd gone back to New York, and that wouldn't have broken Naomi's heart, not in the least (or perhaps, better to say: not that much).

That is when she bumps into Frankie again, and this time she has her camera around her neck, a cigarette in one hand, and Cat in the other.

Naomi eyes Frankie suspiciously before hazarding a soft, "Hello." They're in the middle of the street, and Cat looks like she's about to hurl amid the stress. They look like they're right in the middle of a workday, but Cat straightens herself anyway as Frankie manages a smile.

"Naomi, right?" Cat says first, reaching out for a handshake. "Fancy meeting you hereabouts."

"Likewise," Naomi says, smiling as she takes it. "Field work?"

Frankie nods. "Just a few more shots, I hope."

"We're doing an ocular for a client," Cat explains, before turning to Frankie and gesturing toward the wide space to her left. Frankie shrugs quietly before taking a few shots, the snap-snap-snapping of her camera breaking the silent air around them.

"What do you think?" Cat asks Naomi.

Naomi blinks. "What?"

"About the area. Fairly peaceful as there's practically no one here – quite surprised to find this lot here, even, actually," says Cat, looking around distractedly.

Naomi catches Frankie's eye over Cat's shoulder briefly before looking away. "What are you building on it?"

"Last I heard it was a school," Cat says.

"Right," Naomi says, shifting from one leg to the other. "I better leave you two at it, then. Good luck." She smiles at Cat one last time before giving Frankie a nonchalant nod--or at least, what she hoped passed as one.

There's a shuffle of footsteps behind her as she turns the corner, and Naomi stops, already knowing.

"Frankie," Naomi greets. "Long time."

Frankie takes a moment to catch her breath, smiling throughout. "Yeah," she says finally, breathing out. "You're really not one for morning afters, no?"

Naomi smiles, remembers Frankie and how she'd left her – on her belly, under the sun, with the sheets dangling off the side of the bed and the curtains parted. _Some things never change._ "I may have never outgrown that, yes," Naomi says, smiling. At some point, one does grow old enough to admit a few things. "Sorry, were you—"

"Oh," Frankie's quick to cut in. "No, I didn't mean—"

"I didn't think so, either." And then, "Won't Cat be worried—"

"Let her."

Naomi fixes her a stare. "Frankie." _This is not how it's supposed to go._ "That's official business. Get serious."

Frankie laughs, though Naomi can sense this nervous lilt somewhere, like the conversation ended in a place Frankie does not agree with at all. "All right then," she says, before moving to touch Naomi's hand. "But we're okay here, yeah?"

Truth be told, it sort of burns – a few images from that night come unbidden, and the snapshots are enough to make Naomi inhale sharply. Off the slowly softening look on Frankie's face, Naomi clears her throat and says, "Of course. We're all right here."

 _Whatever that means._

" _All right_ then," says Frankie again, slowly pulling her hand away. "We should get together soon, you know? Keep on building our alcohol tolerance, that sort."

Naomi smiles. "Whatever you say Franks," she replies, and Frankie makes a small salute before turning around and walking away.

Naomi waits until Frankie disappears around the corner before carrying on herself. As she crosses the street, she shoves a hand into a pocket and absently feels her phone there, like she were waiting for the smallest of signs.

*

Predictably, Frankie calls that night – a bit later than is usually comfortable for Naomi, but then again at this point, _everything_ about Frankie's unsettling anyway, so upon getting the phone call Naomi just thinks, _Oh, fuck it then._

It's a different pub altogether, and when Naomi arrives, Frankie's already comfortable inside a booth in the corner. In the middle of the room are perhaps three or four pool tables, and all the lights hang so close to them that the place is altogether dark.

"Hey," Frankie says first thing, looking up from the table. Naomi notes with a smirk the empty bottles already on the table.

"You started without me," Naomi teases.

"Sorry, I was kind of early."

Naomi slides into the seat across her, and in relatively better light, she can see how Frankie's looking quite off, for starters. "Early? You should have called, I would have—"

"I just missed my flight to New York," says Frankie, taking a swig. There's a characteristic sadness in the way she says, 'New York,' and Naomi feels a pit forming in her gut.

"What? Why?" Naomi furrows her brow, shaking her head as she tosses her pack of cigarettes on the table and lights one herself.

Frankie reaches for the pack and slides a fag out in kind. "It's been quite an interesting few hours in between, if you get what I'm saying," Frankie shrugs.

"And why's that?" asks Naomi and for a moment Frankie just looks at her, ash forming at the tip of her cigarette. "Frankie?"

Frankie blinks, tapping the ash off before drawing deeply. "I slept with Cat."

"What?" Of course, Naomi expects it to happen at some point – Frankie's a walking seductive _disaster_ (seductive, yes, but a disaster just the same) – but hearing it still throws her anyhow. "Christ, Frankie." The first thing on her mind is Sam Murray, who probably doesn't have a clue that right from the start, she never really had a fair fighting chance.

Frankie doesn't say anything; instead she just orders another round of drinks. The moment the first bottle touches the tabletop, Naomi snatches it and takes a lengthy pull.

"Run that by me again," says Naomi when she's done, swiping at her lips with her knuckles. "How the fuck did you end up missing your flight to New York?"

With a deep inhale, Frankie begins recounting events from when they last saw each other – which was earlier that day. "I missed her, you know," Frankie says quietly at the end of it. "I missed her _so much_."

There's a desperate ache there that speaks to Naomi so clearly that she doesn't even catch herself in time; the next thing she knows, she's reaching across the table and pulling Frankie in for a breathless kiss – it's all teeth and surprise and Naomi notes how Frankie tastes sweet, like a curious mix of gloss and vodka.

When she pulls away, Frankie's looking at her, this mix of sad and confused and _hurt_ , and she's asking softly, "The fuck was that for?"

Naomi remembers a moment long ago in a Japanese restaurant's bathroom; remembers entering it and seeing Emily washing her hands. Naomi closes her eyes: there's the sound of the water running, the smell of the soap there, the taste of Emily's tongue — "I'm sorry," Naomi says, touching her lips gingerly as she opens her eyes. _Fuck I'm sorry, you're not that girl at all._ "This was a mistake, I didn't mean to – you're not--"

"Sit back down," Frankie sighs, putting a hand over Naomi's on the table. " _Naomi_." Naomi looks back down at her – she hasn't even noticed that she's actually _standing_ until Frankie's pointed it out.

"We—we don't have to say anything," Frankie says, looking away and pulling her hand back to herself as Naomi begins sinking into her seat slowly. "Let's just drink, okay? I just need – I just have to be _not_ alone." And then, "Can we just stay here a while?"

Naomi looks at her and blinks. _Did she really just say that, or am I hearing things?_ Frankie no longer meets her eyes; instead, they just focus on their own bottles and fags.

"All right," Naomi says after the quiet. "We can stay."

It reminds her of an entirely different thing, something all too young, but for the sake of the moment she tries to push the thought away.

*

Later, Naomi finds herself still awake, back in her flat, only this time she's watching Frankie passed out on _her_ bed for a change. Outside, it's slowly turning into morning – true to form, she still can't sleep properly in this place, no matter how tanked she is.

She's seated on the floor with an ashtray beside her foot and Naomi reaches over to light another fag. _What were the chances,_ she asks herself, drawing from it lazily. Frankie shifts to her side, her tanktop hiking a little; Naomi sighs as she puts her cigarette out, stands and walks toward the bed. Outside the window, birds have started chirping softly. _Fuck this,_ she thinks, tired but miles away from sleep.

Fully clothed Naomi climbs into the bed beside Frankie, careful not to wake her with the sudden dip of the mattress. Frankie's warm (or perhaps it's the alcohol) and Naomi puts an arm around her, casual like it were the most ordinary thing.

(This is the way Naomi falls asleep this time – already half an hour after sunrise, with the side of her face pressed against Frankie's back, listening to her breathing.)

*

In the morning Naomi finds a note on the bedside table: "Isn't this how you roll? –F." Naomi smiles and thinks, _Well, when in Rome,_ before getting up, fixing herself an initial cup of coffee and calling Katie to ask about breakfast.

Katie arrives about an hour later and Naomi opens the door to find her in plainclothes – a nicely pressed jacket she hasn't seen before, and a white blouse with an interesting collar. "You look good," Naomi says, totally honest.

Katie eyes her curiously before stepping in. She spends a few more quiet moments observing Naomi before, " _Christ_ , Naomi. Two nights in a row?"

Immediately catching on, Naomi's quick to defend, " _Hey_. I know what you're thinking."

By then, Katie's already peeling Frankie's note off a table. "Really Naomi – just _how_ do you roll?" And then, waving the note at her, "Obviously, you were with her last night."

"Stop treating this place like a fucking _crime scene_ ," Naomi says, and she hears Katie murmur something like, 'But it always fucking is.' "And for the record I did _not_ sleep with her, I swear," she adds, still sipping from her coffee. "Though I did _kiss_ her. She'd just slept with Cat and was about to fly to New York, but then she missed that flight too, and then we were out drinking—"

"Wait, wait – what? She missed a flight to New York? That's insane."

"You totally missed that part where _she actually slept with Cat_ \-- in my book, that's what qualifies as 'more insane.'"

"Not like we didn't have that coming, right?" asks Katie, stepping into the kitchen to fix her own coffee. "I mean – that was what I'd been warning you about, Naomi."

Naomi sighs, putting her coffee down. Of course Katie's right; it's one of those moments when she just wants Katie to hit her so hard just to get it over and done with. "Katie," she begins. "Do me a favor and hit me."

"Nope," replies Katie instantly, and she doesn't even look up from stirring her coffee, as if she'd expected that request all along. "Don't be ridiculous; I won't hurt you _unnecessarily_."

"But it _is_ quite necessary," Naomi says. "I'm going mad. I kissed her and I'd do it again." And then, "Which is why you really have to hit me."

Katie shrugs, taking the stirring spoon out of her cup. The best part about Katie, Naomi thinks, is that she knows when not to look at Naomi like she's lost her mind – including those times when it does look like she has, in fact, _totally lost her mind._

"That's ridiculous," Katie says matter-of-factly, but when she looks Naomi's way, Naomi has already rolled her sleeves up and put up both her fists.

Katie doesn't even roll her eyes, and it infuriates Naomi, the way Katie just looks at her amusedly while carefully removing her jacket and hanging it upon the back of a chair. She takes a moment to study Naomi before proceeding to roll up the sleeves of her crisp white blouse as well.

"I don't want to _fight_ ," Katie says.

"I need this Kay," replies Naomi, trying to sound serious. "I'd rather you than—"

Katie ducks to avoid Naomi's irregular swing – a bit too high and shaky - and takes that opportunity to grab Naomi's swinging arm by the wrist. It throws Naomi, just how _deceptive_ Katie looks, strength-wise; in a split-second, she's got her arms around Naomi, restraining her.

Naomi feels like she's being arrested a second time.

"You all right?" Katie asks after a while, slowly loosening her grip as soon as Naomi's breathing evens out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean – was that –"

Naomi rubs at her wrist, warm and red but not at all sore; for the most part, she's just thankful that Katie didn't go ahead and hit her altogether. "Nice one, Kay," she says, managing a smile. "Totally solid, that one."

"Stop being so _cavalier_ ," says Katie, turning Naomi around and smoothing her shirt. The look on Katie's face says something like, _You better be thankful nothing here's going to bruise._ "Well--there's no blood, so I guess that's a good thing." Naomi just nods, feeling like a ten-year-old getting scolded.

Later, in a relatively more sober moment, she finds herself sitting quietly across Katie, now busy reading the paper while drinking more coffee. "You'd kiss her again, you say?" she asks suddenly, not even looking up from her page.

Naomi blinks, thinking, _Did I say that?_ "Maybe." And then, chewing at her lip, "Yes. Yes I would."

Katie sighs, putting her paper away before leaning in closer, elbows upon the table top, her sleeves still rolled. The way she looks at Naomi makes Naomi wish Katie were cleaning her gun instead of _looking_.

"What?" asks Naomi. "It's not like I'm seeing her again, I should know better right?"

"Right," Katie says, nodding slowly, brow raised. "Like that worked for you _before_."

 _Before._ "She isn't Emily, you know," Naomi says finally and Katie looks away at that. Naomi wonders how she must have sounded. "At the end of it – she just happens to be _here_ , know what I'm saying?"

"Whatever you say," Katie shrugs. "I just – why can't the two of you just. I don't know – you seem so _tortured_ without each other, why don't you just stay put and build a nest or something, like normal lesbian couples?"

Naomi laughs, the sound laced with barely-there bitterness. "I doubt Emily and I can manage that," she says, shrugging. "We're getting quite used to this."

She doesn't even catch that on the way out, but Naomi knows, the moment all the words are off her lips, that something's wrong with that last statement altogether. "I don't know about you," Katie says, looking at Naomi softly. "But that's the saddest thing I've heard today."

Naomi breathes in, nodding. "It is, no?" she just says, picking up their cups and putting them in the sink without another word.

*

The next thing she knows she's making a deliberate detour to drive through Cat's street, which Naomi remembers from that night she and Frankie got arrested. This time though she makes an extra effort to drive carefully and to not hit any trash bins on the side of the road – something she does not find difficult to do at all, considering how sober she is.

At some point, Naomi thinks she spies Frankie there by the window, her thin frame silhouetted behind the curtains. It's one of those times Naomi doesn't understand what's going on – why she's feeling this sort of strange entitlement, for starters. _Cat's like, her *Emily*,_ Naomi tries explaining to herself. _Which means, I'm like, what – Sam?_

She shakes her head as she drives on. There are clearly very few things worse than being Sam in this equation, and that much Naomi knows.

*

Naomi tries to go back to where she last was – in Katie's precinct, looking for a story – if only to regain a semblance of the old life back. She manages to get Katie's cooperation in letting her follow one – it's about this massacre of a small family by two employees of a bakery they once owned.

It was exactly the sort of diversion that Naomi's been looking for since coming to her senses about Frankie.

She's doing a background check when she runs into a familiar name. _Sam Murray. What were the chances?_ she sighs, reaching for her phone absently.

Frankie answers with a surprised, "Naomi?" All this time, Naomi's managed to keep herself away, only to have to call her for a work-related matter.

"Yeah, sorry to bother you," _Yeah, after an eternity of not calling_ , Naomi thinks, clearing her throat. "But I've lost Cat's card, and I'm tracing Sam Murray for a story I'm writing."

Predictably, Frankie starts laughing at the other end. "Naomi Campbell, what do you think you're doing?"

 _Of course,_ Naomi sighs, and she's now only barely aware of her phone-holding hand shaking lightly. Frankie's right – what was she thinking? "Look, this was a bad idea—"

"No, sorry – that wasn't what I meant," says Frankie, sounding like she were _composing_ herself. "Just – we don't get drunk anymore, do we?"

"Frankie."

On the other end, Frankie breathes in before, "All right then, got a pen?" Naomi exhales as she grabs one from the nearest drawer, writing down whatever Frankie's saying on the back of an old receipt; for a split-second she considers asking Frankie how she knows, but then she's deliberately trying to keep this as short as possible.

"Thanks," she says, when Frankie's done.

"That's all?"

A pause. "Yeah," Naomi answers. And then, "Thanks again."

It's all awkward and painful, the gap between so solid and nearly insurmountable. "Can I see you?" Frankie asks softly.

Naomi sighs, imagining Frankie's eyes. "I don't know Franks," she says, chewing at the tip of her pen. "I'm kind of busy."

"With what?"

"Like, why does it matter?"

A pause. For a moment there, Naomi almost thinks Frankie's put the phone down on her. "If you didn't want to see me, would've been easy to say no, yeah?"

 _Easy._ Trust Frankie to think anything between them could be _easy_. Despite everything, Naomi finds herself actually smiling. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"Same old," says Frankie, laughing lightly. Naomi finds herself breathing out, somewhat more relaxed. "Your first few beers are on me. Same place?"

Nodding into the receiver, Naomi says, "Yeah." Later, at the sound of the busy tone, she just asks herself, _What just happened here?_

*

Frankie's hair is longer when Naomi sees her next; the pub's still _their_ pub, to some degree, if only a bit quieter.

"Hello, stranger," Frankie greets, grinning at her as she looks up from the table; turns out she's gone ahead and had a couple of beers, judging by the bottles already lined along the edge. "Long time."

Naomi smiles in kind as she sits across Frankie, and Frankie pushes a fresh bottle of beer into Naomi's ready hand. "How've you been, Franks?"

Frankie blinks, but she doesn't take long before she spills: Cat's moved in with Sam, and so _they've_ been sneaking around ever since, rekindling their nostalgia when no one's looking. In the end, Naomi's ultimately unable to keep herself from physically recoiling.

"Sorry," Naomi says, reaching for her pack of cigarettes. "It's just – doesn't it ever get tiring, Frankie?" she pauses to light it, taking a small quick drag after and blowing to the side. "What about Sam?"

Frankie just runs her hand through her hair. "I don't know," she says. "Don't get me wrong – I feel bad about Sam, too, but—"

"But you love her."

Frankie looks up from her hands wearing this astonished look on her face. "You think it's acceptable?"

"Possible and acceptable are two different things," says Naomi, shaking her head. "But I understand you, I do – of course, of all people _I_ would understand, right?"

"That actually makes up half of why I actually wanted to see you," Frankie sighs.

"The other half being?"

Frankie raises her brow at that, a smirk forming on her lips. _Just how quick can she do that?_ Naomi wonders. "Do you really want to know?" asks Frankie, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively.

It all makes Naomi laugh out loud. "Oh, Christ – you really haven't changed."

Frankie laughs along. "We all need things that _don't_ change, don't we?" she just says.

*

That time it happens, it's all clumsy and drunk, and in the morning after, when Naomi finds herself in Frankie's flat dressed down to her knickers, it only jolts her a little. _Of course, this was bound to happen,_ she just tells herself.

There are bruises in places, and they tell Naomi just how drunk they were the night before; she thinks about icing them in Frankie's kitchen, but decides against opening the fridge altogether.

Frankie manages to wake before Naomi can make the exit – she's almost got her hand on the knob when Frankie asks her where she's going.

"I'm gonna get some ice for these bruises," Naomi answers, biting her lip to keep her laugh in. She does find the whole thing funny, in a curious kind of way. "I better go."

"All right." Frankie just nods and sits on the edge of her bed, watching the door. It makes Naomi entirely too self-conscious, but then she goes ahead and says goodbye.

Upon closing the door, Naomi fishes out her phone from a pocket. "Katie," she says, biting her nail. "I saw Frankie last night."

*

Apparently, if it were up to Katie, the plan is to just preoccupy Naomi until she doesn't have time to think of anything else, and it's something that works most days. So far Naomi's managed to build an altogether different story around sources that _don't_ involve Sam Murray – she feels like she's better off this way.

Naomi's deep into one such story when she receives a phone call that day – or rather, when Katie intercepts that phone call for her.

"It's Emily," says Katie gravely when she hands her the cell phone.

 _What?_ She barely has the time to breathe and recollect herself. "Emily?" she asks Katie, before the voice starts speaking on the other end.

"Hello, Nae. How are you?" Right then, it feels like the voice is scalding her; like it's burning surfaces and eating its way through to the core.

Naomi swallows. "Em?" And then, "Long time." Naomi hates it that this sounds like a conversation between her and Frankie.

There's a laugh at the other end – a soft sound that Naomi's missed dearly, and suddenly Naomi remembers just how she's supposed to _feel_. "God I've missed having someone to talk to in the first place," says Emily, clearing her throat. Naomi closes her eyes and tries to process that. _For Christ's sake, it's a general statement, Naomi,_ she tries to calm herself.

"I'm coming home. Maybe a week or so," Emily says, and Naomi holds her breath. "We should see each other when I get back."

 _Here we go again,_ Naomi thinks. She breathes out, slow and shaky, before: "Yeah, we should."

There's a long silence in between as Naomi lets the news settle for a moment. _For how long? What does she want? What does it all mean?_

"Naomi?"

 _After all this time._

Naomi clears her throat. "Come home, Em," she just says, pushing the phone closer to her ear.

*

 **epilogue**

Naomi asks to meet Frankie Alan on a Tuesday, in the pub they usually went to most nights. It's still mid-afternoon when they agree to meet; on the phone, Frankie sounded like she wanted to say something as well.

They get there within minutes of each other; Naomi manages to arrive first, and she seizes the opportunity to pay for Frankie's first round.

"I have something to say," says Naomi when Frankie comes in and settles in front of her, fiddling with her pack of cigarettes.

"Oh?" Frankie asks, distracted. "Me too."

"You first," Naomi offers.

"No, go ahead."

Naomi breathes in. _Is this actually the right thing to do?_ "Emily called," she says finally, half-wincing. "She says she's flying in soon."

Beat. "I should probably meet her, no?" says Frankie, recovering quickly. Naomi can tell she's been thrown off, however briefly. "See the sort of girl that sweeps you off your feet -- that sort."

"You'll only flirt with her endlessly," Naomi teases. For the most part, she's thankful that Frankie seems to be taking it in stride. _Was there any reason for her not to be able to?_

"When's she coming in?"

"End of the month, give or take."

Frankie breathes in, looks away before taking a swig. "Then I'd probably not be able to," she says finally and Naomi feels her lungs plummet, a slight hint of what's coming next already forming in her mind. "I'm going back to New York."

"What?"

"It's for everybody, no? Cat gets a quiet life, I'd get a quiet life," Frankie says, pausing before adding: "You'd get a quiet life."

For the most part, Naomi just feels overwhelmed – there are too many things happening, and she can't figure out which to feel mostly for, first.

"New York?" she just manages at the end.

"Yes, _New York_ ," Frankie says. She slides a crumpled pack Naomi's way as she lights her own and Naomi quickly snatches a cigarette out.

There's a long quiet before Frankie speaks again. "You can come with, if you want."

Naomi feels something lodge in her throat, and she coughs out at she exhales. "Excuse me?"

"Come with me," says Frankie. "We could – I don't know. You can write there. Maybe look for a job there. I heard the New York Times—"

"You're _crazy_ , Frankie," Naomi laughs. "I've known you for what – how long? A few months?"

Frankie breathes in, taking a long slow drag before exhaling upward in a slim column of smoke. "We can still know each other better, can't we?"

Naomi pauses at that in kind; for the first time in this conversation, _something_ does make sense, and it frightens her, ultimately. The last thing this confusion needs is for _something_ to make sense -- and for that to be _Frankie_.

"Naomi?"

Naomi's thinking about Katie and their breakfasts; about Emily and her flight home. She's thinking about the rest of the things here, even those that she's not fond of, like the weather and the crowded public transport system.

But on the other hand, she's also thinking about Frankie – about how she's never been to New York, and how it's an entirely new place where nobody knows her. She imagines they'll be staying in Frankie's flat, and it's one that exactly looks the same, but maybe a bit smaller, and they'd be opening the window so they could smoke out of it while watching people passing by below, the horizon a sea of blinking neon lights and signages, and --

"What do you think?" Frankie asks again, and it's only then that Naomi blinks. _What just happened here?_ she's asking herself.

"I don't know, Franks," she replies, voice suddenly weak.

"If you really didn't want to, it would've been easy to say no."

And it was the truth – Naomi didn't _want_ to say no. Or at least, not yet. _I need a sign._ "Give me time," she just says, finishing her fag and crushing it against the ashtray. "Can we take a moment to think?"

Frankie takes one last drag from her cigarette before stubbing it out in kind, the air around them now thick and heavy with smoke and everything else.

"Of course," she just says. "We can take this moment."

Naomi closes her eyes and waits.#  



End file.
